


All Your Grey and Jagged Edges

by Fervent_dreamer



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ben Solo Doesn't Turn to the Dark Side, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ben Solo Needs A Hug, But destiny always catches up, F/M, Fighting Rings, Force Dyad (Star Wars), He tells both sides to fuck off, My First Work in This Fandom, Rey Needs A Hug, Running from destiny, Soulmates, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:34:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22163362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fervent_dreamer/pseuds/Fervent_dreamer
Summary: Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering.What no one talks about is bitterness.That’s where Ben Solo finds himself, bitterly accepting his fate. His uncle tried to kill him because of some unsolicited visions through the Force. His mother refused to say anything about it. Only begging him to come home… when she answered her comms at all. His father—well, he hadn’t seen Han in person since his fifteenth birthday.Unable to go home (and not wanting to see his family even if he could), Ben is at a loss with what to do with himself. As angry as he was bitter, he took the name Kylo and began fighting in illegal matches.Amazing how that was enough to hide him from his family. Made him wonder if they bothered to look at all.Then, one day, the Force does something strange. The strangeness pulls at him and worries at him until he lands on a backwater planet that only a handful of star-charts have bothered to label, Jakku.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 31
Kudos: 109





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](https://imgur.com/1PiYNVc)

Ben stared down the short stone hallway that led to the fighting pit. He could hear the crowd simmering at a dull roar while they settled into their seats. He waited for the booming voice before walking up and stepping out onto a loose layer of gravel that dusted the hard packed floor.

A Nikto announcer was busy riling up the crowd further, growling an alien language into a tiny sphere he held in his clawed hand, but Ben didn’t listen. Instead he took the time to center himself. His deliberately slow, deep breaths drowned out the shouts and jeers assaulting him from every angle. He pushed away their noise until they were a mass of emotions on his senses.

Ben’s focus narrowed on the orange Twi’lek across from him, Ashaac Stel. His opponent. His obstacle. An insect he needed to step on to live another day.

The grit crunched under his boot as he cautiously circled the ginning fighter across from him. The crowd’s approval and the quality of his fighting leathers told Ben how popular this opponent was—more so than the gangster’s warning to him when he signed up for the match. He carried two daggers that he flipped with practiced ease, though the wasted motions spoke of a lack of formal training.

Ben still wore his woven shirts and loose pants, never having upgraded his clothes though he’d been fighting for years now. He looked like a pauper fresh out of the desert, and he preferred it that way. Metal bracers were strapped to his arms underneath his sleeves, and he wore something reminiscent of ancient chain mail close to his skin. His hands were empty, absent of lightsaber or blaster, as one would put him on the radar and the other was illegal in the competitions. 

“Do you think you’re ready for this, human?” Ashaac let out a soft snarl, revealing sharpened teeth. “I’ve been on the lists a long time and I’ve never heard of you.”

“I haven’t heard of you either” Ben said, never taking his eyes off the male’s feet or the twitching lekku hanging off the back of his head. When Twi telegraphed, it usually started there. “To be fair, if my ship hadn’t been damaged I probably would never have heard of this planet.” He feigned concern over the implied insult. “Not that that’s your fault. I’m sure you’ll be off world and facing real fighters soon.”

The Twi snarled and lunged.

Ben twisted to the side, bringing up both arms. The first deflected the dagger with a screech of clashing metal, the second launched a punch. The Twi’s offhand dagger sliced across his middle, but that was what the mail was for. His punch landed solidly on the male’s jaw, making him stagger back a half step.

He recovered quickly though, striking back at Ben with a savage grace that enlivened the crowd. 

Slice—slice—slice, Ashaac moved in a sequence that shredded Ben’s simple clothes and made him grateful for investing in armor instead. 

As he retreated to find another opening, he felt the tug of the Force. It beckoned him with the crook of a lover’s finger, crooning about how easy it would be to end this. 

A paltry fight, an inconvenient opponent, how easy it would be to lift his hand and squeeze until the male’s life was snuffed out.

Ben resisted the call. Using the Force was risky. It left him open, left him vulnerable. Instead, he ran towards the Twi, dropping into a slide and catching him off guard. 

Suddenly behind him, he kicked out his knees, bringing the alien low with a grunt. Then he got to work. 

Using his elbows and his fists, he attacked the back, the skull, any soft organs he could get near. The headtails would have been an easy target, but that was why he didn’t go for the tentacle protrusions. It would have been cheap, it would have been easy.

As the challenger, he needed to win fairly to ensure his payment. Though cheating was common, it the syndicates were always fickle in when they chose to enforce their rules. 

He felt something crack under his hands—a rib—but he didn’t stop.

A warning shot through him. Ben rolled to the side on instinct, not questioning, only listening. The Twi immediately rolled as well, moving away and getting back up, daggers in hand and blue blood running down a cut in his forehead.

Barely visible in the dirt between them was a dart. 

Dirty bastards.

And so the circling began again.

Adrenaline pulsed in his veins as he watched the orange male treat him with a new wariness. 

When Ben first ran, he’d been wary of the outer rings, seeing as his father made his money smuggling with these people. That first year he’d been little more than a beggar trying to scrape out a living rather than go back to the family that  _ tried to kill him _ .

He was over it. Truly. 

Thankfully space was large, and an assumed name went far in hiding his identity. A lanky human with black hair wasn’t a particularly useful description. They could have sent a hunter after him, but he hadn’t encountered any yet. 

Given it’d been five years, he figured his family decided not to stoop that low. They apparently preferred to do their own dirty work. That, or they were too busy to give a damn.

Instead of attacking him head on, the Twi threw his daggers.

Excellent. 

Ben deflected them one after another. Bright  _ tings _ sounded with each block before they flew to the side, to the ground, to the dismayed and affronted crowd. It was easier than fielding blaster shots blindfolded. He caught one out of the air just in time for Ashaac to cut his losses and attack him after all.

But now, he was armed. 

They clashed in the middle of the ring. Kicking and slashing, they both fought to gain the upper hand. The longer the Ashaac failed to bring him down, the dirtier his fighting got. Ben grit his teeth.

The Twi leapt back just long enough to send a dagger hurtling towards his legs. Ben, tiring, wasn’t quick enough to dodge. It lodged into his thigh. He shouted his pain. The crowd cheered.

Instead of accepting their praise, the Twi kept his keen eyes on Ben and Ben resisted the urge to pull the knife out. It burned with the heat of a ship entering atmo, but his anger flared and helped him push past it. He wouldn’t risk bleeding out. 

“A fighter,” Ashaac spat. “You’re no fighter. You can catch a dagger and use your fists, but you don’t have the spirit. You’re just a sad little womp rat crying for attention.”

Ignore him. Focus on the fight. Ignore him. Focus on the fight.

“You’re so pathetic I’ll bet your parents tried to smother you, before they realized they get more money selling you to the junkers.”

“My god you talk a lot. I thought we were fighting, no whining about our feelings.”

“Pathetic little human,” he crooned, “unwanted and unloved; lashing out because your life isn’t worth the tattered clothes on your back.”

Later, he would lie to himself and say it was a calculated risk, but really, the Twi had just pissed him off. 

He gave in to the Force. Calling it to himself, he launched forward, barely remembering to keep the energy in his limbs and his feet on the ground. The Twi looked like he was ready for the bull rush. 

He was wrong.

But, the Force felt strange this time—felt wrong.  _ What _ —

Ben hit him with the strength of a raging mudhorn, scattering the thoughts to the desert winds. Though the orange male had braced himself, Ben blasted him off his feet with a roar. 

He pumped his legs and carried him all the way to the edge of the arena, slamming him into the stone walls. The strength of it whipped his head so cracked against the back of the ring, smashing those tendrils hard enough that the audience of murders and thieves flinched.

The Twi’s head lolled to the side, but it wasn’t enough. Ben’s rage had a hold of him. He reared back and slammed him again. 

And again. 

And again. 

His arms were trembling now and his back was protesting the weight of the body, but he slammed him once more for good measure; then tossed him to the side, panting.

The fickle crowd cheered.

“An impressive if unexpected display of brutality from the human.” The words startled him, as sound rushed back to his ears. “Kylo, everyone! Give it up for the new champion!” The Nikto announcer waved a spiny hand towards him.

The former Jedi stared down at his fallen opponent for just a moment more. Then he lifted his head.

With a wry smile, Ben raised a fist. The metal bracers flashed through the gaping cuts in his shirt. These same people would have called for his death if the fight had gone differently. So long as they got their fill of brutality, it rarely mattered who won and who lost.

He limped out of the ring, the fire of his anger banking to smoldering embers. He released his hold on the force—which still felt off—and took a moment to yank out the dagger. The shirt was already half in tatters and it made for decent improvised bandages, even if it was full of dirt and sweat. 

Medical droids zoomed into the pit to gather the Twi’lek and take him back to whatever infirmary they had on site. One of them moved towards him, but he waved it off. A bad experience early on taught him not to trust anything owned by the gangs. They didn’t always take well to their fighters being beat.

An enforcer led him to the boss and he was paid. Fairly.

Having already tapped into the Force, it was easy to reach for it again, and guarantee he got every chit they’d agreed upon. The powers came to him easily, eager to be used, though they still maintained that discordant note.

He took only what he’d been promised though. He’d be fighting here again. He didn’t need people to think  _ he  _ was the one cheating  _ them _ .

It was a long limping journey back to his ship he’d set down well outside of the town. He perched it carefully in the middle of high boulders and rough foliage in an attempt to keep it out of Jawa hands. It worked so far, but it made it difficult to get to when he was injured.

It wasn’t the  _ Grimtaash _ . He’d been forced to get rid of his beloved ship when he was chased off planet, leaving behind the smoking ruin of his uncle’s temple. He hadn’t killed anyone, though. He may have been conflicted and felt alone, but he stopped and checked. Luke had been alive. And he only disabled the  _ Verity _ , so Hennix, Tai, and Voe all lived too.

With a pang for his old ship, Ben climbed into the  _ Outcast _ . A small freighter turned transport, it was a bit of a mishmash. A couple of guns had practically been soldered on, but they worked for what he needed. He wasn’t looking for dog fights.

The  _ Outcast  _ was the reason he could barely afford to eat and clothe himself. Keeping the junker flying took a lot of his funds, and it took him nearly two years to save enough to buy even this. 

This tangled mess of exposed electrical cords, rusty panels, and jammed toggles. There was a smell too, that he couldn’t quite get out. He was pretty sure something had died against the air filter. The scent krept into the cabin when he flew for longer than a couple of hours, even after changing the filter five different times.

_ Is that you, young Solo? I can sense you. _

Ben winced at the voice, hurrying further into the ship so he could sit and concentrate.

_ I knew you couldn’t resist using it. No one as powerful as you can. Even your former master, Luke, still uses the Force. Though, like you, he doesn’t stay long enough for me to track his location. _

His anger flared for a brief moment, before he wrestled it under control. He dropped where he stood, right in the middle of the deck. The breathing patterns were as familiar to him as Chandrila. 

Inhale. Hold. Exhale slowly. Inhale. Hold. Exhale slowly.

_ I felt that. _ Darkness searched for him through the Force. Snoke’s oily thoughts ran over it all. Ben quieted his mind, quieted his heart, making it so that he could observe the Force, but was apart from it—a winnow in an outcropping waiting for a shark to pass.

He hated it.

He was more powerful than this. He was stronger than a child cowering in the shadows. He was—

Ben audibly pushed out his breath, pulling himself even further back from the energy until he was barely connected.

_ You think you can run from me, but you won’t. Not forever. I will find you, and you will join the darkside as you were always meant to _ —

Blood filled his mouth from where he bit into his cheek. His jaw was clenched hard enough to crack a tooth, but he violently closed the connection so he was cut off completely from the Force.

At least he tried. No matter how hard he pushed his power, there was still the faintest connection, like something foreign had attached itself to him. Desperation made him try to smother that mote, that blight, suppressing it whereas he eviscerated everything else. 

It felt like severing his arm. Thanks to more than one vision, he knew what that felt like.

“Agh!’ He cried and trembled as a fresh wave of sweat broke out across his forehead. He wouldn’t be able to hold it for more than an hour, but hold it he would. It felt like hanging off the side of a cliff with his fingertips, but he did it, for every excruciating minute he could.

The worst part of the whole thing, was usually how unprepared he was for it. There was no clock, there was nothing to ease the strain, there was only his concentration, his self discipline.

When his head throbbed and water leaked from the corner of his eyes, he released his concentration with a gasp.

Long enough. Just long enough for Snoke to lose interest and for him to reconnect the tiniest thread of his sanity back to the Force undetected. A connection so small in a universe so vast that even the powerful Vader wouldn’t have been able to track him.

A tremor entered his hands. 

First the fight today, and now this. The fatigue threatened to consume him utterly. 

He made himself get up and choke down a pasty dinner, followed by a quick shower, and a date with his cheap dermal regenerator. It stung like a bitch and left a scar, but it closed the wounds and he wouldn’t get an infection so long as he kept up with the antimicrobial spray.

He closed up the ship, and turned on the secondary generators, the ones that let him keep on the environmental controls without turning on every system in the ship. That foul smell kicked up again, but he was too tired to truly care.

Finally, he let himself fall onto the bed and fall asleep.

His last thought was for the grit of sand now attached to his soul. He wondered what it was, where it had come from, and what it could mean.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A strange sensation is plaguing Rey.

Rey resisted the urge to scratch her neck while Plutt examined her haul.

He took his sweet time with the best of the lot, turning a cramshaft over in his meaty hands hemming and hawing over the piece. For once she wasn’t watching with bated breath. In fact, she was about ready to walk away just so she could figure out where this _infernal sensation was coming from_. 

She’d already checked her clothes: no oil spots, no chemical stains, no plant barbs. Last night she all but broke her own spine craning around, trying to get a look at that spot. Thankfully the cruiser she was in the other day still had a couple of mirrors, and she was able to see that there were no bug bites. The sand ticks were terrible sometimes, even if it wasn’t the season for them.

The scavenger had no reasonable explanation for the crawling feeling that had settled right behind where her neck met her shoulder. It was driving her mad.

It felt like a cross between someone watching her and spindle-spider dancing it’s way up her spine. 

“One and a half portions,” Plutt _finally_ declared.

Rey didn’t argue. She just snatched up the little green sections and marched off towards her speeder. 

As she did so, she scanned the crowd; almost praying that someone was watching her so she could explain this away. No such luck. No one was any more interested in her than they normally were.

With a frustrated growl she loaded up, securing her bag and her staff in the mesh. then sped away over the sands. She stopped hard enough in front of the AT-AT to kick up a cloud of dust. The speeder groaned under the mistreatment.

"I'm sorry," she told it. "I know it's not your fault."

The speeder, of course, didn't respond. Mentally promising it a tune up tomorrow, Rey finally gave in to the urge to scratch as she made her way inside her home. 

Her chewed nails raked over the spot in short rapid motions, but she felt no relief from the action. She only succeeded in raising some welts and making herself bleed a little bit.

Rey went through the motions of making her dinner with a little more force than necessary. As she mechanically scarfed it down, she decided that she would go through the flight simulations again.

It was either that or scratch a hole through her neck.

The dishes were tossed towards her makeshift sink and she picked her way along the sloped “floor” towards one of the back compartments in the AT-AT.

It was a mess of wires in this back room. She’d had to completely remove the back panels in order to get access to the wiring. Three days it’d taken her to pull the entire computer display from that old Y-wing light bomber. Then it had taken a week more for her to get it hardlined in here.

The simulations chewed through her generators like nobody’s business, but it would be worth all the extra work tonight. She was so restless that if she didn’t work through the pilot programs, she would probably just go back out and try to salvage more. 

A terrible idea this late at night with plummeting temperatures and night predators coming out to play. 

Rey had been caught out once and only once. The memory of it would come back to her at times. It never failed to make shivers twitch through her limbs and her ears strain, trying to catch a hint of a growl or slithers in the sand.

No. It was definitely worth the extra work it would be to haul back a new generator, or mess with her shitty solar panels to try and get these ones partially charged. 

The scavenger plopped herself down into a flight seat she’d crudely welded into the floor and strapped herself in. It tilted at an angle and it swiveled. A couple of neat flicks of her fingers and the screens glowed with life as the rig booted up.

“Welcome, Rey,” the system greeted her. 

“Hello, BTL,” she smiled at the screen. It didn’t have a mic, or even a rudimentary AI, but she liked to think it could hear her. 

Before she touched the simulations, she went ahead and changed the language from Basic to Jawaese. 

More of Jawas had been congregating around Niima lately and she wanted to brush up on the language. If she could manage it, she wondered if she might try dealing with one of the smaller clans on the side.

The thought was dangerous, though not fatally so. Most people knew you needed to trade with Plutt or not at all, but some were willing to risk it to get more than just old military rations. If she caught them far enough away from the outpost, she could trade with little fear of her fellow scavengers turning her in. The trick was in making sure to avoid her competitors, without losing the Jawas.

Bright chirping tones of the language surrounded her as she pulled up the list of programs. 

Hundreds of hours of simulations were stored on this mainframe, but she only had maybe six before she needed to conserve energy to make it through the night. As much as she would love to poke around the schematics of rebellion starships, she wanted to save the battery life for something more...engaging.

Scrolling through a list of simulations, Rey chose an x-wing tract of middling difficulty that progressively became more difficult the longer she stayed in the simulation.

The terrain gradually shifted from open space, to a simulated space battle, ending in her dodging asteroids in a nightmarish field. Her ship systems would also quit functioning in a graduated sequence making the response time of the program more and more sluggish until, really, she had no choice but to surrender to the inevitable. 

It was one of Rey's favorites and she always turned to it when she was having a bad day. It took every ounce of concentration she had which left no room for a dumb arguments, or weird sensations, or close calls. Half the time it was better than sleep, because she didn’t dream, she simply lost herself.

Even if she had yet to finish the program, she almost always did better than last time, and it felt like stumbling across a rare find every time.

Selecting and initiating the program, she shook out her shoulders and settled her arms lightly against the mock consuls.

Alright. Ready. For anything. Let’s see what the simulator had in store for her today.

It didn’t matter that she’d done them a hundred times over, the world slowly fell away piece by piece. She couldn’t hear the wind outside her metal walls. The wires and broken parts littering the room slowly faded from her periphery until all she saw was the glowing display. 

The feeling of being free, of flying away from here and never looking back always came to her. Never mind that it was a simulation, her heart still soared at the stars and systems that flew up on her screen. 

For just a little while, it made her forget the pain of waiting. Waiting for her parents. Waiting for something to happen. Waiting for… something more.

Rey worked her way up through to one of the most difficult settings of the program, navigating a turbulent asteroid field with half of her systems offline and limited maneuverability. She loved this one. A tingle always started at the end of her fingertips and she felt like she could anticipate where the next rock was going to be on the screen. 

Only, this time it was different.

A strange feeling started at the base of her spine and slowly worked its way up her back. It didn’t itch, it more…burned? Only burn was too strong of a word for it. It was warm though, definitely warm, as it crept up her spine, up her neck and over her scalp. She would have been frightened if—no, she _should_ have been frightened of the feeling. She should have been completely unnerved by the sensation.

Instead, it felt as though someone was leaning on her back and resting their chin on her head. Similar to being grabbed from behind, only instead of danger and revulsion, she felt completely safe. 

Rey imagined it’s what a hug would feel like.

Stranger still, she felt more awake. The irritating sensation on her neck faded into the heat and she felt her eyes widen as she took in the screen. Her fingers flew over the toggles and switches almost without her say-so. It was—

It was—

Even in her own mind she couldn’t describe how in tune she felt with the machine. Thoughts didn’t happen in a linear manner, more like they happened all at once, if you could call them thoughts at all. 

She rotated the joystick, making the simulated craft spin. She recalibrated the capacitors and flicked open the exhaust vents in time for her to pull an insane maneuver. It felt like she was flying a real ship, in space, even though she never had before. She knew— _she knew_ —this it was it felt like.

Then she…transcended.

For an instant, just an instant, she felt every nut and bolt in her home. She felt every grain of cooling sand out on the dunes. She felt the life of a tiny flower resting in the night air.

Then it stopped.

She came back to herself in a violent rush, feeling her connection to everything cut off as surely as someone closing a blast door. Her hands froze, hovering above the mock control panel. Rey blinked. It took her a second to actually see the readout before her.

A perfect score.

The screen went black. As did the buttons, and everything else in the AT-AT. Her back-up lights gave a halfhearted sputter before they died too.

Great. Brilliant. Marvelous. She swore bitterly as she took a look at her wrist display. Her brows shot up when she saw just how long she’d been on the simulation. It certainly hadn’t felt like it’d been nearly eight hours.

Crap, that meant she drained the back-up generator. Rey kicked the console half-heartedly, petulant that it died, but knowing she had no one to blame but herself. 

It was unlike her to lose track of the time like that.

With a sigh she felt her way to the third compartment of the AT-AT in the pitch dark. She toed around seeking the edge of her bedroll. 

From there she was able to find some more comfortable clothes and her small heater, which thankfully ran on a battery.

She flicked it on and flopped onto the pile of thin blankets and stuffed pack that served as her bed and pillow. Despite creating a mountain of work her herself tomorrow, she actually felt better than she had in awhile. 

Weird cactus-juice trip aside, she felt settled, connected, and sure. Like she was exactly where she was meant to be. Which was strange, because she’d never felt particularly out of place before. 

Rey waited for her parents, always; and she would long for the freedom of space when Plutt was cheap, or the scavengers violent, but never to the point that she would consider leaving Jakku. 

She would dream, but never wish.

At least that was what she thought before this… certainty took up residence within her.

Well, whatever this feeling, it wouldn’t change her work load tomorrow. Rey was just glad that she kept a few choice engine pieces back for a bad day. She would be able to spend the day resetting her generators, but still be able to deliver something to Plutt.

Reassuring herself, she threw one arm up overhead while the other rested over her stomach, her eyes drifting closed. 

Just as she was falling asleep, she caught a whiff of something foul. 

“Are you kidding me?” She growled into the dark. 

With a groan that was closer to a whine she flicked off the heater. Without the proper amount of light, she would have a hard time fixing it and she simply didn’t feel quite up to the task at the moment.

Instead, she grabbed every thin blanket, cloak and extra shirt she’d gathered over the years and resigned herself to freezing until morning.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Repercussions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of references to other fandoms in here. Don't worry, they were on purpose. I promise I'm doing my homework. ;)  
> Thank you for the kudos and your lovely comments!
> 
> Also, gratuitous swearing at the very end.

Ben woke up shivering.

Which made absolutely no sense because the environmental controls in the  _ Outcast  _ were perfectly functional and he had energy to spare, having just refueled and recharged at the last space station he’d stopped at on his way to this miserable little planet. 

For a moment, he considered staying in the bunk. Then a full body shudder almost rolled him off the bed anyway.

Bleary eyed and  _ freezing _ , he gimped over to the machine and punched in the commands for a steaming bitter beverage. He wrapped himself in a heavy robe and also grabbed the heaviest blanket he owned as he willed the dispenser to hurry it up.

Beverage acquired, Ben shuffled his way towards the pilot’s chair to see just what the hell was going on. 

The heat from his cup warmed his hands enough that he was reluctant to let it go and check on his ship. Quick as a snake his arm darted out so he could punch in the sequence then it was right back to the mug, cradling it preciously.

A tentative sip burned his mouth, even as he felt the warmth travel down to his core.

All the temperature gauges gave him the same readout. The diagnostic he ran came back negative for any tampering or problems. Hmm… 

He glared at it all suspiciously.

Still, between the drink and the extra layers, he was rapidly warming up. A fluke? Maybe there had been a coating on the blade that he hadn’t caught in his half-assed patch job last night. He certainly felt like crap this morning.

Regardless, he wasn’t fighting again until the end of the week. He could afford to stay in for a day or so.

Decided, he began tuning in to different frequencies from around the galaxy. 

For local channels, all he found was music. It would interrupt itself every now and again for brief reports on sports teams, or the occasional commerce report, but nothing more than that. 

Not that he expected there to be. Ben was pretty sure this planet was under the control of Rinnrivin Di. 

“The new Jabba the Hutt, only thin and spiny whereas that fat old slug had to be wheeled around on a platform.” Han said once.

His father would talk about the war. His mother, not so much. Oh, she would explain the battle plans, the strategy behind them, and why the different generals made their decisions. She even explained (in general terms) what the Empire had done to its people, telling Ben that was why she needed to be gone so much, to stop that from happening again. 

She never talked about specifics. Not the way his father did.

Ben used to beg Han for stories about their fight with the Empire. He wanted to hear about how uncle Luke killed a star base in a single shot, and about how Han escaped from the mouth of an asteroid worm, and about mom and anything else Han was willing to talk about.

So, he’d heard stories of Jabba the Hutt. It was only when he came to the outer rim and saw the remnants of the criminal empire that were still being fought over more than twenty years later, did he realize how terrifying the family of gangsters had actually been.

Any planet under control of a crime boss knew better than to report things like murder, or politics, or really anything a typical news-feed was made up of. 

Explained the terrible music though. 

Nevermind that Nikto heard sound at different pitches; gangsters weren’t generally known for their discerning taste in art. Forgers, maybe. Not these ones.

Ben flicked through the channels.

“We’ve got us a scorcher today ladies, gentlemen, and variations thereupon—”

“The jungles on Havarl are increasingly becoming overgrown—”

“Caladan welcomes home Duke—”

“More news on Senator Organa, next.”

Ben passed the frequency before the words registered fully. He stopped toggling and flipped back to what was now advertisements.

He stared blankly at the screen, waiting for the reporter to come back on. When she did, he saw she was Ferroan. Star white hair swept up into a perfect coif, and ice blue fingers held a completely unnecessary microphone.

“In an exciting turn of events, Senator Organa has stepped down from her nomination to the newly formed position of First Senator as revelations of her true parentage came to light.” The reporter’s gaze seemed to pierce through him as she delivered the news. They flashed and suddenly, those weren’t her eyes staring back at him.

“It seems that Senator Organa is not a princess after all. Sources say this was confirmed in a recording from the late Bail himself. Discovered after Carise Sindian was crowned the new Governor of Birran, the recording states that Bail and Breha Organa are the Senator’s  _ adopted  _ parents and that Organa is, in fact, a Skywalker.

“To be specific, she is the daughter of Anakin Skywalker and the late senator Padme Amidala. And yes, sister to Luke Skywalker, the rebel hero.

“For those of you who might not recognize the name, Anakin Skywalker was known better by another, Darth Vader.”

Ben heard a faint clatter. A part of his mind registered a searing heat seeping into his sleeve and a pant leg, but it took second place to his enrapturement as he listened to this stranger on the screen.

_ Yes. This is your answer, young Solo. _

“This information is now calling into question the actions of both Skywalkers during the war. Would two children really have worked together to take out their own father? Or was there something more behind their actions? More on this as we are updated on the situation. Back to you, Keth.”

“Thanks, Laorinette. Well, that’s quite the story—”

Ben became deaf and blind to the rest of the transmission as he flopped back in the pilot’s chair, trying to process what he’d just heard.

Vader.

…

_ Vader. _

_ That’s right. All of Luke’s preaching to you about the ways of the light, and he was the son of one of the darkest Jedi in history. Is it a wonder that he tried to kill you? It’s in your blood. They would have condemned you without even telling you why. _

No. Not again. Hadn’t last night been enough? Ben closed his eyes and tried to breathe, but the shock and his slowly crashing emotions made any kind of meditation impossible.

_ That trick only works on me for so long. Just because I can’t find you, doesn’t mean I can’t  _ reach _ you. _

A nauseating finger stroked across his mind. Ben shuddered, repulsed, and pressed a clenched fist to his forehead, trying to ignore the sensation. This was worse than last night.

His instincts urged him to fight. He  _ wanted _ to fight. But if he fought, then he would be found and he couldn’t afford that. 

If he could only concentrate. He couldn’t think. His emotions roiled like an angry sea and Snoke could sense that. He needed to push everything away so he could just…

Just what?

_ I can show you. You’ve been holding yourself back for so long. It isn’t what you were meant for, this half life. You were meant to be among the most powerful, just like your grandfather.  _

“Stop it.” Ben tried to focus on the pain of his knuckle grinding into his skull. He was barely aware that he rose to stand on his shaky legs.

_ You’re wavering. You’re not sure. You never have been. Torn between your own instincts and the path your family has tried to push you on to.  _

"This changes nothing, Snoke. I wanted nothing to do with you when I was training, and I want nothing to do with you now." He felt a strong tug on his emotions, strong enough that his body actually swayed where he stood. 

Ben grit his teeth against the pull.

_ This changes everything. Don't you see? You belong. Those doubts that have always lived in your heart come from somewhere. Your family left you, betrayed you, because they weren't your true family after all. _

Sharp strikes rapped against the hull door.

Now was really not a good time. Ben ignored what would have normally him at the door, blaster in hand, in favor of the deadly game of tug-of-war over his soul.

_ Your inheritance, your legacy, is to be of the highest order of power. They lied to hold you back. They tried to strike you down because they were afraid. What else was a lie? _

He was starting to sweat under the effort of holding him off.

_ Other than your Uncle, you've never met a Jedi. Other than Vader, you've never heard of a Sith. Who's to say who is right? Everything you've ever been told has been biased. How are you to decide for yourself when all you have is someone else's thoughts in your head? _

"Funny you should phrase it like that--"

A blaster shot ricocheted off the outside of his door, followed by the sound of muffled shouting.

Simply flying away would be easier than dealing with whatever was outside his door, but he was in no condition to fly. Against his better judgment, he stumbled over to the control panel and lowered the ramp to see what the hell these people wanted so badly. 

The lowered ramp revealed a Nikto, a purple Twi, and a smattering of other rough types in leather clothes that shouted “gangster”, you know, in case you missed it. The Niko holstered a blaster. 

“Can I help you?” Ben asked, trying not to look as though his insides were slowly being ripped out of him.

“Yeah. We need our money back.” The Nikto was the one that spoke, but the Twi beside him kept licking his teeth and lazily swinging a… it was either a machete or a short sword. Ben couldn’t focus his eyes enough to tell which.

He sneered back, then swayed when Snoke pressed on his mind. He growled, “I don’t have any of your money.”

“Hey! We scanned all night looking for you. Clever hiding in here, but not so clever if you’re going to steal from us then stick around.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I fought. I won. I was paid. How does stealing factor into any of that?” His hand twitched for a blaster that wasn’t on his hip, because he still wasn’t dressed.

Trying to come up with some kind of plan while fighting Snoke felt like he was hauling a dead speeder through mud. He didn’t know where this was going, he just knew that it wasn’t anywhere good.

“You were paid more than you should have been.”

“No, I was paid my fee, which was agreed upon by both parties.”

“That’s not how things work around here,” the Nikto admonished him.

_ Wipe them out. All of them. With your full power unleashed they wouldn’t last ten seconds. _

“Then please explain how things  _ do _ work around here. I’m in the middle of something.”

“He thinks he’s all important.” The Twi spoke up.

“Big talk for a newcomer, I don’t care what his fighting reputation is off planet,” one of the goons piped up.

“I dunno, he did beat Ashaac.”

“What? You think a thief wouldn’t cheat?” the Nikto asked over his shoulder.

_ They know nothing. _

“Didn’t cheat. Didn’t steal. Losing patience.” Ben’s head throbbed and his neck ached. He felt the vein on his forehead starting to bulge from all of this.

“We don’t pay full price for newcomers. You get stiffed on your first win so that way you know who’s boss around here. So the fact that you walked away with your full cut means you fuckin’ did something. Don’t know what. Don’t care. Just give us the money back.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that is going to happen.”

“You will, or you’ll never fight here again.”

“That’s fine.” Ben reached towards the ramp switch.

A number of things happened in the span between heartbeats.

The gangsters pulled their guns.

Ben reached out with his power to pull a blaster towards him.

Snoke felt Ben’s use of the Force, then viciously lashed out in response.

When the energy slammed into Ben, instead of tearing his mind to shreds like he was expecting, that mote, that grain of sand from last night flared back just as strongly, impossibly rebounding Snoke's energy back on himself.

Being caught in the clash between the opposing energies dropped Ben to the floor. 

He smacked hard into the metal grating just in time for a blast to shoot through the space where his head had just been.

Heat flashed into his arm and leg. At first he thought he was hit. But no, that was where he dropped his drink. For whatever reason he hadn’t felt the burns before, he felt them now. They seared into his flesh in a pain brighter than a phosphorus fire. 

It wasn’t the calm detachment of meditation, but he made it work. Beings in pain normally cried out for the Force, reached for it instinctively, but Ben took the pain and shoved it towards the connection point. 

Instead of using the channel that opened up, he pushed every synaptic fire towards it. Blocking it and closing off his connection to the Force for the second time in as many days.

Five more shots zipped then blasted the interior of his ship. 

The  _ Outcast _ may have been a flying trash heap, but it was his  _ home _ , dammit.

Ben rolled over and returned fire, laying on his back and shooting between his feet. One goon went down. He nicked another. It was enough to scatter them. That, in turn, bought him enough time to kneel and lunge for the ramp switch.

The ramp began to rise so very slowly. 

“Come on,” he pleaded. “Come on.”

He traded off another round of shots with the gangsters. No more of them were injured, but he did his best to keep them scrambled. Every shot that made it in, just added more to the mental credit counter in his brain.

Nope. Couldn’t split his concentration for his soul. For his money, however, his mind kept an accurate and running tally at all times. 

Shit. He needed to leave,  _ now _ .

The ramp closed and the door sealed, the hiss of the cabin pressurizing served as the signal he needed to jump back towards the pilot’s chair.

Ben pivoted—

Into a girl.

His arm was up and a blaster shot fired before he even realized what he was seeing. The girl flinched back, but when she grabbed for her stomach, there was no wound. Ben stared at her with wide eyes.

“What—”

“Who—”

They spoke in unison.

More shots exploded on the outside of his hull, grabbing his attention. When Ben turned back, she was gone. Completely. Not a trace of her.

Hallucinations. Had to be.

Shaking himself, he dashed for the pilot’s chair and nearly flooded the engines he started the ship up so fast.

He sped out over the desert and immediately started climbing into atmo. He didn’t need to see the small fleet of ships to know that the gangsters were coming after him. He slammed into light-speed far too early, causing fire to ignite in the sky above the planet.

It was mostly desert anyway. It would burn out.

He didn’t stop until he was a system away. He kept going for as long as he dared, keeping a sharp eye on his fuel levels. When he was about halfway depleted, he set himself adrift, needing a  _ moment _ without people trying to kill him.

… 

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck.  _ Fuck. _

Ben kicked his console then put his head in his hands.

“Fuck.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben has time for reflection out in space. Rey's meeting with the Jawas goes as planned, until it doesn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for waiting on me. There’s… well, let’s call it copious amounts of overtime right now. I’m beyond grateful to have a job, but updates are going to be sporadic at best until we reach an equilibrium. Hopefully that is sooner rather than later.  
> Thank you for the comments and kudos! They mean a lot.  
> Stay safe everyone. <3

Rey staggered backwards then fell back hard on her ass on the sand, her arm still wrapped around her waist.

What the hell was that?

That man— Those sounds— Those had been blaster shots. 

She lifted her hand, checking her stomach again. Nothing. Her clothes were fine and, when she lifted the shirt to see underneath, so was the rest of her. 

Rey flopped back in relief. Then immediately realized she was still out in the sun, when she felt the heat hit her bare face. She sat up, scooted back until she was in the shade of the AT-AT, then flopped back again.

Yesterday, she’d been eager to write off the weird feelings and visions as some sort of reaction to either a chemical, or a plant, or anything really, especially if it’d also been the cause of all that itching. 

But that? That had been something else entirely.

She’d woken up pleasantly warm this morning, rather than freezing as expected, and her day seemed to only get better from there. After pulling out the solar converters, the generators hooked up the first time, and actually took a charge. Half the time if they were compatible at all, the batteries in them died before she could load them back up with fuel.

She didn’t have a single problem all morning. Then the tugging started.

It was better than itching—that much was certain—but it pulled from her middle, making her feel restless. Like she was supposed to be doing something, but she had no inkling as to what. 

Rey ended up walking in circles around the AT-AT because she was at a loss. The burning started after the first loop around her home. Her hand, her leg, it felt as though someone dumped scalding water all over her.

“Ah—damnit!” She watched the skin on her hand redden though nothing had touched it.

The scavenger reached for her tool pouch, she kept some salve in there for when she burned herself with her soldering tools, or if she grabbed a sheet of metal that was just too hot from roasting in the desert sun all day.

She smeared it on her hand, and tried to get it on her leg, but it did little to help. It was odd. Her skin reddened and the pain lingered, but when she touched it, her skin was cool.

That went on for a little while, long enough for the tears that pricked the corner of her eyes to dry as she breathed through the pain. Just as quickly as it arrived though, the sensation vanished. Simply vanished. And she suddenly felt cold and alone. The comforting feeling of last night abandoned her utterly in the middle of the day.

What. The. Hell.

Then she just… turned around—and he was there.

Laid out on his back, the man shot between his feet at… well, clearly at something, she just couldn’t see. She heard the blaster shots, but they were faint, almost like she was hearing them from a distance, or muffled behind metal walls.

Bedraggled black hair waved away from strong, pale features. Sweat dripped down the sides of his face, and deep grooves underlined his eyes. Stress? Sleeplessness? 

The man swore rolling to his feet, slung a shot behind him—

Then about ran into her. Her eyes widened. His eyes widened.

He shot her.

Rey checked one more time to be absolutely certain she wasn’t bleeding out.

If he shot her, did that mean he saw her too? If he saw her too then… Then what? Were these visions? She’d heard of things like that, but she always thought they were stories, for priests and Jedi. Visions didn’t happen to regular people. They just didn’t. 

This had been going on for only a day and a half and she was already growing sick of it. 

* * *

Ben Solo sat in the pilot seat for a long time. With his bare feet propped up on the console, he cradled his head in his hands, resting his elbows on his knees. Space spread out before him in a dark, endless expanse of void and stars. He looked at none of it.

His head ached more than it had in an age.

Vader. Darth Vader. The most notorious man in the galaxy was his grandfather.

Snoke had made some valid points while he tried to take over his mind. Being related to Vader explained so much of his life. Ben, as he sat in his chair with the heels of his palms pressed against his eyes, slowly came to realize that maybe, just maybe it wasn’t his fault after all. 

He’d always thought something was wrong with him. None of the other students had been granted the visions he had or heard the voices he did. Luke claimed the dreaded dark side was drawn to him because of what was in his heart, but what if it was in ancestry instead? Even if he hadn’t succumbed to it, even if he hadn’t known what it was, Ben couldn’t deny that something had come for him in his younger years.

Hell, he scoffed thinking of the last two days, it came for him now.

It felt like he’d been watched his entire life. As a child he caught sideways glances filled with scrutiny, contemplation, and a little bit of fear. He’d dismissed it as his imagination long ago. With this new information though, it confirmed that not only was he not imagining things, he now knew why they did it.

His mother, the liar, would cover her worry with a hug and a kiss before going back to her paperwork. His father, the flake, would shake his head, ruffle Ben’s hair, then leave the planet. His Uncle, well, most everyone knew what his Uncle, the attempted murder, tried to do.

Had he ever stood a chance? Would he have ever been allowed to grow and just be himself? Or did his family simply assume, searching in fear with a kind of dreaded anticipation to see if he turned into a second Vader?

Who knew? He didn’t care. But at least now he knew why.

It's dangerous when your enemy’s logic began to make sense.

However…

A thought occurred to him.

Why was Snoke coming after him so hard? Sending Ben visions, trying to manipulate his mind, what was it all for? He’d never shown skills or talents beyond any of the other Force sensitives his Uncle trained. Was it only because of Vader?

That thought surprisingly hurt. Not that he wanted to turn to the dark side, not that he cared for these manipulations and pain, but… He’d grown up around heros. Extraordinary people with extraordinary tales and as a child he only ever wanted to be like them. To think that he was only being used to get to them, rather than because of his own merits, stung. As illogical as that feeling was.

With some difficulty, he pushed the sting aside and tried to think.

What was their plan?

Ben mind raced through a number of possibilities. They could mean to use him as a tool against his mother. They could be trying to locate Luke though him. Snoke had said outright that he couldn’t find his murderous uncle. 

Sure, Ben was the one turning dark. He was the one they needed to worry about. Never mind Luke who was about ready to—

No. 

Focus.

He’d never been good at politicking. Mom put him through exercises when he was younger. She took real incidents and political situations from decades past and tried to have him work and reason through them. Ben did a sight better than his father on those little games, but his mind simply wasn’t built to handle the intrigue. 

Still he tried to apply those meager skills here.

The Jedi were gone. The Sith were gone. —Or were they? Without either faction, then none of this made any sense.

Ben’s head throbbed, and the stale smell of his drink began to bother him.

He needed to take stock, he needed to rest.

Whatever fuel he’d stocked up on had been blown to shit with that little escape maneuver. The intention had been to stay on planet long enough to win enough to move on. Instead, he had been forced to leave after winning a single fight. That meant he had no credits, Republic or otherwise and he didn’t know what he was going to do.

Well, he started with adjusting his trajectory so he was at least heading in the direction of another planet, then killed as many of the engines as he dared. He would drift while he tried to come up with a plan.

Double checking his calculations to the damage of his ship and taking stock of his resources occupied his mind enough that he didn’t think about that baffling Force explosion or the vision of the girl.

That was new.

Snoke had never tried a vision like that before. It had always been power this, and showing people that. It… well, he didn’t know what to make of it.

If a traitorous little voice tried to tell him he was wrong; he ignored it. One problem at a time, thank you. It was easier to think that she was a manifestation of Snoke’s. The implications otherwise… it was just easier.

* * *

Rey waited an hour or more as the shade of the AT-AT slowly crawled away underneath the midday sun. When her shelter vanished, she forced herself to stand and load up a bit of her stash. There was still time to get to Plutt today. And if she left now, she might be able to search out those Jawas.

Weird visions or not, she needed food, she needed money. In this harsh landscape, nothing was guaranteed. She couldn’t afford to spend more than a day lying about. Hell, she shouldn’t spend even that much. Good finds were growing scarce the longer scavenging went on with the more dangerous ships being plundered because other ships held nothing of worth.

She loaded two of her good finds and a bunch of junk that would maybe fetch her a quarter portion altogether. It would be suspicious otherwise. For the Jawas, she’d have to come back and pick through her stash. It chewed up her fuel, but she’d go out tomorrow at any rate. If she couldn’t find any leftover in old fuel lines, then she’d nearly stocked up enough military rations to be worth a trade.

Not that she would have any left over for herself, but that would be tomorrow’s problem.

Hopefully, she would just find what she needed, and it wouldn’t be a problem at all.

Sure. And someday she would have a ship of her own and a life like the holos.

Rey shook her head at herself and loaded up the poor abused speeder.

Plutt’s went about as she expected. The drive away from Niima went quickly, being laden with only dehydrated food.

The sun hovered about four fingers from the horizon with the first moon already hovering in the sky. Her sister moon would be along shortly. There was maybe an hour before nightfall to find the Jawas. They had a day’s head start, but they would travel at a slow crawl, just so people like her would have the chance to catch up. 

Flicking a couple of toggles, she zoomed forward, feeling like she was flying low over the sands. The warbling thrum of the speeder cried out into the open air seeming high and thin when she crested a dune, then pressing close against her eardrums as she swooped low.

A grin eased over her features, because as much as the simulation felt real, it lacked the smell of burning fuel and open air. Even with a covering over her mouth and nose, the passing wind whipped through it like she wore nothing.

She vowed that someday she would have enough resources to roam the sands for as long as she wished. 

The distinctive tracks of the mobile fortress appeared beneath her about ten minutes into her ride. Heavy and evenly spaced, they were a right fit for the clan that left the outpost yesterday. She imagined the only reason the tracks hadn’t blown away in the night was the sheer size and weight of their sandcrawler.

Rey’s eyes darted over her surroundings, looking for signs of other speeders or other scavengers. She saw nothing at present, but that didn’t mean they weren’t out there. Flipping the cover off her wrist, she set the machine to scan for other signals in the area.

The only problem with scanning like this was if she could see them, they could see her. Rey counted on being faster and more mobile to keep her out of trouble, stars knew she didn’t have the weapons to fight back. Rarely did their transports have the same agility as her, but sometimes off-worlders with better equipment dropped by to try their luck.

She’d have to see and be smart.

The deserts of Jakku were vast with very little to break them up. If someone traveled far enough, they could hit some mountains and even some vegetation—real plant life—but it was so far away that it may well be a legend of its own. 

That meant there was no solid rock for miles and miles. That meant there were no reliable ridges for her to ride along. Instead she took the high ground when she could, and wove between the dunes when she couldn’t, her scanner running all the while. 

She heard a ping before she saw the sandcrawler. Rey immediately served back out of range. The sharp jerk on the speeder threatened to overturn it, but she managed to keep it under control by throwing all of her weight to the opposite side. The breaks and the engines shrieked their protests, making her flinch.

She ground to a halt and checked her scanner again. The range was about a mile or so. She deliberated getting down and walking. However, just because she got a signal, didn’t mean that she was necessarily close to the Jawas. 

Cautiously, she eased forward to see if it pinged again. If it did, the signal wasn’t moving, if it didn’t, it was still traveling. 

Nothing for now. 

Rey continued on, slower than before. Her wrist pinged a couple more times before she figured out the pace the vehicle was going. It was too fast to be the Jawas, but it was too slow to be a speeder. Maybe a barge of some kind? A rival for certain since someone that slow was probably laden with scrap.

She briefly considered trying to pass the vehicle and get there first, but she set the thought aside. The Jawas had enough to go around. She would rather wait her turn than risk revealing her position and exposing her back to blasters. 

Not to mention there was now apparently a chance she was going to get burned, or shot, or go on a massive mind trip at a moment’s notice. She’s been lucky so far that these… fits, happened when she was at home, or between projects. Rey shuddered to think about how much worse it could be. Repelling down into the belly of a cruiser, driving at breakneck speeds, fighting with the assholes that still thought she was an easy target—if she lost concentration during any of it—all of it—she would die.

Well, it had only been a day, maybe the fits would stop.

She didn’t even say it aloud and she felt how hollow those words rang.

The light hovered on the horizon. Only minutes now until it faded. Her wrist pinged a final time and Rey pulled over to see if the signal would continue to move forward or stay. It stayed. The Jawas must be around then.

It was funny though; the massive mobile fortress didn’t show up on any of her sensors. Strange. Strange enough to make her walk the next quarter mile, keeping a large dune between her and the signal. 

Rey swung her staff off her shoulder giving it a small heft as she did so. The warm weight of it comforted her as she scurried up another dune with all the agility of a desert denizen. Her lightly deft movements disturbed little sand as she found herself at the crest. 

Looking down, she saw the sandcrawler and what turned out to be a barge after all. That both unnerved and reassured her. Rey’s sensors didn’t register the crawler in the slightest.

Cloaking technology? Where did Jawas get a hold of that kind of tech?

The scavenger frowned. Checking her surroundings to ensure they were clear, she settled down to wait. 

The barge held a hefty amount of junk. Apparently, the cloth wrapped seller was aiming for quantity over quality. Even in fading light and more than a hundred meters out, Rey could see the pile was good for little more than melting down.

She dug out a set of binoculars to get a better look. The seller was a large broad-shouldered figure, which didn’t mean much, and had a rifle slung over a shoulder. Due to the smaller head wrap though, Rey was able to narrow down the species some. Her gut instinct was to say human, just from the way the seller stood. The tiny Jawa arguing with the figure kept slashing an arm through the air while the trader grew increasingly agitated in response. 

Good for them. The Jawas clearly weren’t going to pay for that useless pile.

After a couple of progressively heated exchanges, the trader menaced forward only to be met with a number of blasters all pointed in their direction. The figure put up their hands, and stomped off with poor grace, taking the barge and taking off.

Jawas took scrap as a matter of course. Why would they pay for something they could easily get their hand on themselves? What a fool.

Rey waited five minutes, then five minutes more to ensure that no one else was stepping up to the Jawas transport. Only then did she slide back down the hill to ease her own speeder up to the fortress. A bunch of hoods all swung in her direction as she did so, but the blasters stayed down, for now.

She lifted a hand in greeting as she hopped down. A taller Jawa approached her. He gestured at her and she greeted him best she could in Jawaese. It was somewhat lacking without the scent glands, but she seemed to get her point across.

It eased the transaction considerably. Her show of respect and the fact she had items of value made them much more amenable to her. The derisive attitude of the other trader may have even helped get her a better-than-usual deal. Something one could be quite proud of. Jawas were also scavengers and usually bartered people down to the bone.

Walking away with actual credits rather than just rations lifted Rey’s spirits. It felt better than even the flight simulations last night because it was a simple and uncomplicated joy. There were no hallucinations or strange sensations to ruin it.

The sun dipped below the horizon during the transaction. It was fully dark now, and she needed to hurry home, but Rey all but skipped back to her speeder. Her thoughts already turned to stopping by a fuel station and topping off her speeder; and not needing to sacrifice any of her food in order to do it.

That was her mistake.

As she raced low over the rapidly cooling sands, the speeder suddenly jerked out from underneath her and Rey launched into the air. 

Her mind blanked.

She barely registered the free fall or even landing on her back and her gear. Her breath shoved out from her lungs and her body felt twisted and wrong. Shouldn’t there be pain? Why was she staring up at the stars? It was so unexpected that Rey was having a difficult time believing it happened.

She might be in shock, she admitted to herself. 

She came crashing back into herself when a goggled face appeared over her own.

“Well now, this might just be easier than dealing with those overgrown bipedal rats.” A muffled human voice said from behind a face covering. The seller. Of course.

Rey’s eyes flashed and she tried to roll, but her limbs were numb and her body couldn’t respond fast enough. A heavy boot landed on her chest.

“Now, now. Where do you think you’re going?”

“Get off of me,” she snarled. Or would have, if she could’ve taken a full breath to properly swear at the bastard. 

“I don’t think so.” The man, now that she got a better look at him, said. Casually, he leaned more of his weight onto her. Rey’s hands grabbed his boot uselessly as she felt her sternum begin to creak and her ribs bow like a metal shaving about to snap.

She did her best, but frightened noises forced their way past their lips as he robbed her of what little air she’d been able to take back. Rey wanted to reach for her knife, a screwdriver, anything, but her arms alone weren’t strong enough to affect anything from this angle. If she let him go, she’d be crushed easier than a woven basket.

The man backed off for a moment. Before she could question why, a rifle stock to the face knocked her out cold.


End file.
